filming tonight.”
“I know it. I found out a few things, too. The porno’s just a sideshow compared with their drug operation. Calvin and Roland were delivery boys. The cops have been following that angle. I’m not sure if they know anything about the warehouse on Half Street, not yet. We’re one step ahead of them there, but it’s a short step. They’ve got informants, and I imagine they’re working them pretty good. So we don’t have much time.”
“Say it, man.”
“I know we told Samuels we’d wait till tomorrow. But you and me, we’ve got to go in there… tonight. We’ve got to get Roland away from that place before the cops dig deep and bust that operation, put that kid into a system he’ll never get out of. We’ll get Roland out, get him back home, straighten his shit out then. You with me?”
“You know it.”
“You got a gun?”
“The one I held on you that night. And more.”
“Bring whatever you got.”
“I’ll be right over,” he said.
“We’re gonna need a driver,” I said. “I’ll call Darnell.”
LaDuke said, “Right.”
I phoned Darnell at the Spot. I gave him the Roland Lewis story and described the kind of trouble the kid was in.
“You interested?”
“First I got to get to these dishes, man.”
“We’ll pick you up around ten.”
“Bring your boy’s Ford,” Darnell said. “I’ll be standin’ right out front.”
I went into my room and got my Browning Hi-Power and the two loaded magazines from the bottom of my dresser. McGinnes’s benny spansules were on my nightstand, next to my bed; I swept them off the top and dropped them in my pocket. The phone rang. I took the gun and ammunition back out to the living room. I picked up the receiver and heard Lyla’s voice.
“Nick.”
“Hey, Lyla.”
“I’ve been calling you-”
“I know. Listen, Lyla, I’ve been busy. Matter of fact, I’m heading out the door right now.”
“What’s going on with you, Nick?”
“Nothing. I’ve got to go.”
“You can’t talk to me, not for a minute?”
“No.”
“Don’t do this to me, Nick. You’re going to fuck up something really good.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Bye, Nick.”
“Good-bye.”
I hung up the phone, closed my eyes tightly, said something out loud that even I didn’t understand. When I opened my eyes, the red of LaDuke’s taillights glowed through my screen door as the Ford pulled up along the curb. The clock on the wall read 9:40. I slapped a magazine into the butt of the nine, safetied the gun, and holstered it behind my back. LaDuke gave his horn a short blast. I killed the living room light and walked out to the street.
EIGHTEEN
LaDuke had parked the Ford under a dead streetlight and was standing with his backside against the car. I went to him, reached into my pocket, and pulled two of the three spansules out. I popped one into my mouth, dry- dumped it, and handed him the other.
“What’s this?”
“Something to notch you up. It came from McGinnes, so it’s got to be good. Eat it.”
“I don’t need it. I’m already wired.”
“I don’t need it, either. But this’ll shoot us all the way through to the other end. Eat it, man.”
The truth was, I did need it. And I wanted LaDuke right there with me. He looked at me curiously but swallowed the spansule.
LaDuke pushed away from the car, went to the trunk, opened it. The light inside the lid beamed across his chest. I walked over and stood next to him and looked inside. An Ithaca twelve-gauge lay on a white blanket, the edge of the blanket folded over the stock. The shotgun had been recently polished and oiled, but I could see it had been well-used; the blueing on the barrel had been rubbed down where the shooter’s hand had slid along with the action of the pump.
“This ain’t no turkey shoot, LaDuke.”
“I know it.”
“Why the Ithaca?”
“Bottom ejection. I p ht p hedon’t need shells flyin’ up in front of my eyes when I’m tryin’ to make a shot.”
“What, you think you got to aim that thing? For Chrissakes, just point it.”
“I got something else if I want to aim.”
“Put everything in the trunk and cover it. We get stopped, we’re fucked.”
LaDuke dropped to one knee, pulled his snub-nosed revolver from an ankle holster. In the light, I could read the words KING COBRA etched into the barrel-a. 357 Colt. He dropped it on the blanket, next to the shotgun. I drew my Browning, whipped the barrel of it against the trunk light, shattered the light. We stood in darkness.
“What the hell did you do that for?” LaDuke said.
“I’ll buy you a new bulb. That light was like wearing a bill-board. When we get down to Southeast, it’s gonna be stone-dark. We don’t need the attention.”
I put the Browning and the extra clip on the blanket, covered the guns, and shut the lid of the trunk.
“You coulda just unscrewed the bulb,” LaDuke said.
“I wanted to break something. Come on.”
We picked up Darnell outside the Spot. He got behind the wheel, and LaDuke slid across the bench to the passenger side. I got out and climbed into the back. Darnell looked at me in the rearview and adjusted the leather kufi that sat snugly on his head.
“Where to?”
“Half Street at Potomac,” I said.
“Back in there by the Navy Yard?”
“Right.” I caught a silvery reflection in my side vision, a flash, or a trail. Fingers danced through my hair and something tickled behind my eyes-the familiar kick-in of the speed. Darnell pulled out from the curb.
“This Ford’s got a little juice,” Darnell said. “I noticed it the other day.”
“A little,” LaDuke said, tight-jawed now from the drug.
I lit a cigarette and drew on it deeply. “We’re gonna go in like we’re knocking the place over. You got that, Jack?”
“Why?”
“I’m thinking we’re going to make like we’re taking the kid hostage, so they think he’s got nothing to do with us. They’ll probably come after us. But I want to make sure they leave the kid alone.”
“How’re we going to get in?”
“I’m Bobby, remember? The aspiring actor. I called earlier in the day, spoke to the man in charge… like that. Assuming I get that far, you step around the corner, show your shotgun to whoever it is we’re talking to, let him know what it meaow man in chns. After that, we’ll improvise.”
“Improvise?”
“You’ll get into it. And… LaDuke?”
